


A Game Of Fight Club

by God_Kinnie



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Fist Fights, H - Freeform, How Do I Tag, Kissing, Scout smooch, first fic, hot dogs, yes. Hot dogs., you literally get into a fist fight with Scout, you smooch scout tf2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God_Kinnie/pseuds/God_Kinnie
Summary: Scouts cockiness causes you to challenge him to a game you used to play as kids called "fight club", but this time waiting to play the game feels more... meaningful, and the fact he called it a date doesn't help.
Relationships: Scout (Team Fortress 2)/Reader
Kudos: 28





	A Game Of Fight Club

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, like, a few things real quick. This is my first fic and I don't really know how to write so sorry if its actual trash. A second thing is that this prompt might be wack but I wrote it for a friend so its not intended to make sense to anyone but me and her, honestly. Third thing, I know I probably shoulda written Scout by his actual name since he's in like, highschool in this but I'm literally too lazy to write the word "Jeremy". Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this random wack trash pile I created.

Whoever said high school is the best four years of your life was wrong. No, in your opinion highschool could never be the best four years of your life. The food tasted like plastic, the classes only taught you to poorly manage stress, and talking to anyone you hadn’t known since at least 6th grade had a 50/50 chance of getting you into a fistfight. High school sucked, and as far as you were concerned the only good thing that had come out of these four years so far was the time you were able to spend with your best friend, Scout. 

You met Scout way back in elementary school when both of you got sent down to the principal's office for flinging pencils into the ceiling during class, you’ve been stuck together like glue ever since. Causing trouble wherever you went, and making your collective existence everyone else’s problem. Oh and everyone else’s problem it was, during these last four years you two have had your fair share of suspensions and calls home, a couple of visits to the nurse’s office after starting a fight with the quarterback, and two weeks ISS for pulling the fire alarm… 3 times. But now it was getting late in your senior year and you two didn’t have much time to cause too much trouble with everyone else, much to the relief of your principal, and you would have to start thinking about your future and where you were going in life. But even the crippling thought of ever approaching adulthood couldn’t stop you two from causing some mischief, even if it was just between yourselves.

It was a hot sunny morning in May, the country boys were in the parking lot smoking cigarettes in the beds of their trucks and the cheerleaders were fixing their ponytails in the bathroom mirrors, everyone was mindlessly walking around waiting for the first bell to ring. You sat at a table in the commons area, staring down at your English project and occasionally tossing one of the cafeterias poor excuses for a tater tot in your mouth. Your concentration was suddenly broken by the soft thud of a plate being dropped next to yours. “How much you wanna bet I could get the cheesy side of this bagel to stick to the wall.” a familiar voice asks from next to you. You look up to see Scout, already peeling the gooey ham and cheese bagel into two. “This cheese is practically yellow super glue if I fling it up high enough I bet it’ll be there for the next decade.” He continued. You roll your eyes “Scout, I’m trying to do my English project.” you look back down at your paper, tossing another tater tot in your mouth. He scoffs and flings the bagel against the cement wall, it sticks to the cold blue with an unsettling smack, much to the satisfaction of Scout who whispers a prideful “awe yeah” to himself in response to the noise. He looks over to you and then down to your paper you were scribbling notes on. “Since when did you care about English anyway?” he asks, plopping down in the chair next to you and scooching it over to look at your paper. 

“Since I realized I actually have to graduate next month.” you sigh, scratching more words into your paper. He puts his elbow on the table, propping his head against his hand. “Well-” he starts “technically you don’t have to graduate. You don’t need a diploma to do any of the cool jobs.” You scoff “oh and what kinda ‘cool job’ can I get without a diploma, what would my career choice be? Stripping?” He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “Nah most strippers have diplomas. I was thinkin’ like, an assassin or something” You look up from your paper and raise a brow at him “An assassin? What, is that what you’re going for? An assassin?” He smiles chin up and nods, looking too confident for saying something so stupid. “Scout, you couldn’t kill a man if your life depended on it, besides with weak arms like yours I doubt you could even pick up a gun.” He glares “Weak? Weak?! Have you seen these beauties?” he flexes his arms and smirks at you “I should start making you buy tickets to see this gun show.” 

He opens his mouth to make more douchey remarks about his biceps but (thank god) the bell rings. You quickly get up and start shoveling papers into your binder. “You know, if you’re so strong I guess that means you could beat me in a fight.” you tease, glancing over at him as you put your things in your bag and swing it over your shoulder. “Oh is that a challenge?” he smiles, standing up from his chair and following you as you two begin your walk to class. “I mean I guess it could be a challenge, if you want to play fight club, that is.” He tilts his head “Fight club? We haven’t played that since 7th grade.” You nod “You’re right we haven’t played it since 7th grade because I broke your nose and you were too much of a woose to play after that” He huffs in response as he narrowly avoids bumping into a crowd of lingering goths in the hall. “Me? A woose? I’m sorry y/n you must have me mistaken for one of your other tall and handsome friends.” he smiles, shrugging his shoulders and looking over to you. You roll your eyes “If you’re not a woose than you’ll play fight club with me.” he nods “yeah, fine, you wanna fight? We can fight but I outta warn you I won’t hold back. I might knock you out cold.” he says arrogantly as he stops near the doorway of his class, you stop in front of him as he continues, “meet me out on the field during lunch, alright?” he smiles, ending his sentence in a softer tone than you would expect, you nod in response. “Oh and get food from that minute market down the street first so we can make it a date.” he quickly continues, nudging you with his elbow as he turns to walk through the classroom door. “A date?” he briefly turns back to you “yeah, a date.” you open your mouth to make a snarky remark but before you could say anything the warning bell rings telling you to go to class. “Oh I gotta go.” you mumble, running off down the hall with a brief wave goodbye. He murmurs a weak “ok, bye” under his breath before walking into the noisy room.

A date? He called it a date and for some reason, it made the violent encounter to be feel more welcoming than it should have. Of course, he could have just said that as an incentive for you to go out of your way to get him food at that greasy minute market he liked so much. As you entered your first-period science class you shook the idea out of your head, choosing instead to think of the inevitable success you were going to feel playing fight club at lunch.

7th grade, god had it really been six whole years since the last time you two played that brutal excuse for a game? You remembered the first time you had played it back in 4th grade, you two had found a copy of Fight Club in your dad’s movie box and were quick to pop it into the blueray player. You watched as much of that movie as you could before your father realized what you were watching, but by the time he did the damage was already done. And the second you both had the chance you were throwing fists at each other in the backyard, going by the rules the movie provided and only stopping when someone dropped to the floor or yelled “Stop!”. It was by far the least favorite game of your parents, and they tried to stop the punching habit the two of you shared but it was no use, you played fight club every opportunity you had. Until 7th grade that is, when you stopped playing altogether.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a harsh whisper from your right “hey, do you know the answer to number six?” a classmate asks, pointing down to the quiz in front of them. “Uhm-” you pause, looking down at your paper, barely started. “Yeah, it's, uh, Mitochondrial DNA.” you mumble, circling the answer on your own quiz. “Thanks.” they spit out, quickly looking back to their own paper. You look up at the clock, brushing stray hairs behind your ear as you look at the time. Twenty more minutes until class was over, then three more classes after that and it would be time for your so-called “date” with Scout. You stare back down at your work and smile, there was that word again, “date”. Something about how he casually made the impromptu plans to brawl sound like a romantic outing made your heart flutter. ‘Ugh’ you think to yourself ‘I am not getting butterflies thinking about Scout.’ you turn back down to your desk and try to concentrate on your work. Butterflies, thinking about a date with your best friend was giving you butterflies. This wasn’t the first time thinking about Scout had done this. You know someone for an entire decade and you’re bound to get a little too attached at some point, multiple times throughout the ongoing friendship you had gotten smitten being around Scout, a few times so much so you were afraid it was so obvious. But he never got it, and as far as you knew he had never felt the same way, so you always stuffed the feelings down and kept moving on until the next time your heart caught a case of love. You thought at this point the feelings would have been far gone, without any way of resurfacing, but of course, you had to be wrong. 

You stood from your desk, walking over to the teacher to hand them your completed assignment, minutes later the bell rang, a cue for all your peers to jump up and immediately start running out of the confining room. One class down, three more to go, then it was off to beat Scouts ass… after you went and bought food for your so-called date.

By the time the lunch bell rang you were already up and out the front entrance of the school, walking down the street to the cheap, greasy minute market you had frequented over the last four years. You didn't actually have to get Scout food, you realized, but you thought since you were going to beat him to a pulp the least you could do was get him some cheap food to eat afterward. You walked down the busy sidewalk, classmates of all grades walking in groups to nearby restaurants, some speeding down the road in their cars to be the first to get in line at drive-throughs. The highschool lunch rush was by far your least favorite time to be out, usually, if you wanted to get food outside of the school for lunch you would just skip fourth-period to get it ahead of the lunch rush, but today the idea completely passed you by. You blamed it on being distracted by the thoughts of a good ol’ fistfight.

The walk was brief, only taking a minute or two before you were walking through the glass door of the knock off 7-11, the stench of the slightly burnt taquitos and sticky floors attacking your nostrils with an unsettling familiarity. Welcoming but still disgusting all the same. You look over to the cashier, who gives you a quick nod as you wander over to the glass near the counter, filled with the inexpensive fatty food you'd grown to enjoy. “Yo, you want something?” they ask, pointing to the food. “Yeah can I get two hot dogs, one of them with ketchup?” you say, glancing down to the roller with the hot dogs. You had never been a huge fan of hot dogs, but Scout sure was, and he was especially a fan of the hot dogs here. You never got why he enjoyed them so much but they weren’t absolutely disgusting to you so you didnt mind when you two would get them for lunch. As the cashier got your food you walked over to one of the tall, glass-doored fridges, grabbing the long black handle to quickly open the door and retrieve a couple of sodas. You shuffle back over to the counter, quickly paying for your food and drinks and walking out of the store. The walk back to the school felt shorter than it should have, probably because you were speed walking the whole time, the excitement of the fight soon to be finally getting to you.

The field was behind the school, across a small parking lot, and behind a building where the weight classes were held. It was a poor excuse for a football field, filled with potholes and surrounded by the torn-up turf track. No one ever came back here, which was why it was one of you and Scout's favorite places to hang out during lunch. You climb up the few stairs next to the weight building, arriving at the gate to the fence surrounding the field. You brush past the open entryway, looking over the grass to see Scout sitting on a bench across the football field. You saunter across the green, stopping next to Scout as you drop the brown paper bag of goods on the bench. He was looking down at his hands wrapping them in a gauze wrap of some sort. “Where did you get the wrap?” you ask, pointing down to his hands. “Stole it from the nurse’s office.” he mumbles, continuing to concentrate on his wrapping. “And why are you wrapping your hands?” He looks up at you and raises a brow “Makes me fight better, duh.” he says as if it's obvious, you roll your eyes. “Well no gauze wrap will be able to save you from hits like this.” you reply, dramatically throwing punches into the air in front of you. He stands up, flexing his fingers before cracking his knuckles, “oh I don't need to worry about the gauze wrap saving me, you'll be out cold before you can even throw a punch.” he smirks, shifting into a fighting stance. “Now c’mon, let's settle this before the food gets cold.” You take a step back, looking at him for a moment, god he really had gotten taller since 7th grade huh. You gulped, now that the fight was about to start you realized you may be in over your head, you were both grown up now and no longer scrawny kids with no muscle mass. You two were no longer evenly matched, and it was obvious you would most likely lose this session of your game, but backing out now would look more pathetic than just letting him beat your ass. So you accepted your fate, shuffling your right foot behind you and shifting your weight to your heel, putting up your forearms to block whatever was coming your way.

Suddenly, Scout throws a punch at the side of your forearm barrier, causing you to briefly lose your balance. You quickly get back on two feet, swinging your right arm at Scout’s face, clenching your fist seconds before impact against his jaw. He steps back, hissing in pain as he touches his face. “Hey, now, watch the money maker!” he exclaims, rubbing his jaw. You scoff, relaxing your arms, “oh, sorry, I thought this was a real fight.” you spit out, annoyed. He stretches his shoulders and shakes his head for a moment, regaining his concentration, “uh-huh, yeah, it is, just watch the face. After all, what are you gonna have to look at if it’s all beaten in?” he smirks, moments before tossing another punch at your left side. You don’t expect it and attempt to dodge last minute, moving to your right. But your dodge comes too late, and he hooks you in the shoulder, you yelp as a wave of pain washes through your left arm. You take a sharp breath in before attempting to throw another fist at his face, he swiftly blocks, knocking your arm away with his elbow and pushing you back. You fall back and hit the ground with a thud. You try to catch your breath, propping yourself with your hands behind your back, you know you can’t stay on the ground for long or he’ll get down too to beat your face in. He chuckles “ah, you’re quittin’ already?” You glare at him and give a quick grunt before hopping back on your feet, quickly maneuvering yourself in front of Scout as you attempt to thrust your knee up into his gut. It works, and he hunches over to hold his stomach out of reflex. You try to think of something quick, not sure where you were going with this plan, and decide to opt for kicking him. You quickly lift your foot, hammering it into the direction of his lowered face, but he lifts right as you do and take the opportunity to grab your ankle mid-air, pulling hard and once again getting you on the ground. You land on your back, completely winded. You desperately try to catch your breath as he gets on the ground and hovers over you, one knee on either side of your waist. He grins down into your eyes, grabbing a fist full of the front of your shirt and pulling you up, winding his opposite fist back, ready to throw it into your face as you did to him six years ago. You finally are able to take a sharp breath in, clenching your eyes shut and putting your hands in front of your face as you cry out a weak and airy “Stop!”

He stops, loosening his grip on your shirt before letting go. You begin to fall back, but quickly prop your elbows behind you to keep you from hitting the ground a third time. For a moment, all you can hear is each others heavy breathing, desperate attempts to fill your lungs with oxygen after a messy and uncoordinated battle. You look up at him, still hunched above you as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. You feel your heart skip a beat and he rests his hand near your side, propping himself up as he continued his attempts to regulate his breathing. “Told ya I’m not weak” you hear him mutter, feeling his breath near the crease of your neck. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes. You promised yourself you’d never make a move, you told yourself that in 6th grade and you were planning on keeping it that way, but something about him being hunched over you, his blue eyes staring into yours as you both sat there in mutual pain, it made something click in your brain that you just couldn’t bury any more. 

You reach up, grabbing the right side of his face and pulling it to you. His body stiffens in surprise at the sudden gesture as your lips meet, the need to breathe being completely forgotten as you both sat there, completely entrapped in one another’s lips. You pull away, immediate regret showing in hot red on your cheeks. You stutter, trying to spit out some sort of apology, but before you can Scout gently lifts your chin with his gauze wrapped hand, once again closing the space between you two. You move out from under him, shifting to sit on your knees like he was, holding both sides of his face close. He wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you to him so you were at last in each other’s arms, the pain of moments before fading away with every breathless part of each other’s lips. The brief moment you had each other felt like an eternity spent in seconds, so much emotion in so little time, and by the time you two separated for air you weren’t sure how much time had passed. You look up at him, hands still on either side of his face as you rub his cheek with your thumb, you open your mouth, wanting to say something meaningful in such a vulnerable moment. “Next time we do this can we kiss before you punch me in the jaw?” Scout suddenly mumbles, rubbing his hand over yours on the left side of his face where you had punched him. You chuckle, smiling at him before resting your forehead against his. “Yeah. we can arrange that.” you mumble back, giving him a quick peck on the lips before shifting back onto your heels. Scout kicks his legs out in front of him, stretching his arms before hopping up onto his feet, putting a hand out to you to help you up. You grab his hand, warm and welcoming as he pulls you up, holding you close against him. You lean your head against his chest and give a reliving sigh, glad you had made a move, glad he didnt reject you like you thought he would. He props his chin against the top of your head, taking a deep breath in. “I dunno about you-” he starts “but I think that was a pretty successful first date.” you silently nod, grinning to yourself as you do. He clears his throat “So, uh, not to ruin the mood, but can we eat now? I’m starvin’.” you pull away and give a small laugh “yes, Scout, we can eat.” he smiles, grabbing your hand and walking with you over to the bench to eat, after all, no first date was complete without a meal to share.


End file.
